


Black Fingernails, Red Wine

by ChillieBean



Series: Kiss From a Rose [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: Ashe gives the chianti a little swirl and takes a sip, humming again and resting her head on his shoulder. Akande wraps his free arm around her waist and they sit in silence sipping their wine. He wants to give her time, give her space, let her direct this evening. He is perfectly content with sitting in her company without a word being uttered or being a shoulder to cry on. Hell, he would read her a novel if she asked.Whatever she wants, he’ll do it.
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu
Series: Kiss From a Rose [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792366
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Black Fingernails, Red Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theoroark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/gifts).



> Some chivalrous and sweet Akande because honestly, his portrayal by fandom is atrocious.
> 
> This is a direct continuation of [At Her Lowest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22114681), please give that a read (or re-read!) before this one for context. It's only ~500 words.
> 
> The title of this fic is shamelessly stolen from the song 'Black Fingernails, Red Wine' by Eskimo Joe. Which was the very first thing I thought about when I made the offer to write this.

It pains Akande to see Ashe like this.

Ashe is one of the strongest women he knows. Her cunning and tenacity are something to be rivalled. She can get any job done, she's not afraid to get her hands dirty. Akande admires her strength and resilience. 

Only once has she shown him her vulnerable side, catching the barest sliver of it back when their relationship moved from professional to personal. She used the words _betrayal_ and _duplicity_ , and knowing Deadlock’s history, it wasn’t a hard conclusion to come to figure out to whom she was referring. But as quick as that storm brewed it passed, and she hasn’t come close since then.

Until now, that is.

Akande has seen every shade of Ashe—from heated moments where she boiled with a white-hot rage, to the more innocent, _intimate_ times where she lets her guard down and laughs so hard at something tears stream down her cheeks.

But this, seeing her so dejected, so _broken_ … it breaks his heart. 

Taking Ashe’s hands into his, Akande kisses her knuckles. Ashe looks at him with tired eyes, strained red from all of the emotion that’s bubbling to the surface. He’s known her long enough to know that someone hurt her. She’s not physically injured, aside from the rope burns on her wrists she is trying to keep hidden, no, someone hurt her _emotionally_. It would take no time to figure out who did this to her, he asked her if he could help, but she turned down every request, from the moment she stepped foot into the clubhouse looking like she was ready to smash something into oblivion, to before she retreated in the workshop to repair Bob, to the drive back to her home.

 _This is my mess to clean_ , was all she murmured after each offer. He wants to help her, to catch the bastard who did this and serve them up on a silver platter, but Akande’s known her long enough to know when to back down. He loves her enough, he _respects_ her enough to not go behind her back. She can handle anything that’s thrown at her—Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe didn’t get to where she is now without strength, resilience, and cunning.

But now, _now_ with his hand cupped over her wet cheek, as he wipes away a tear that spills with his thumb, and seeing that soft smile on her face, the time for offers of sending an assassin to the person who hurt her is over. What matters now—the _only_ thing that matters—is that she feels safe, that she feels loved, that she knows she isn’t alone if she does choose to process these emotions she’s bottling in.

With a smile and leaving her mostly untouched dinner behind, he takes her hand in his and leads her to her bathroom. Another kiss to her knuckles and he rolls up his sleeves, setting the temperature for the bath—a nice, hot 105 degrees—then turns on the faucet and plugs the bath.

He makes his way to the cupboard, looking at the various bath bombs and oils at his disposal. Tucked into the back he sees lavender bath oil, plucking it out. 

“Lavender,” Akande murmurs, “to help with relaxation.”

Ashe nods, she folds her arms across her chest. She’s still guarded, still a million miles away even now, and Akande offers a warm smile before tipping some oil into the bath. It starts to bubble, the alluring scent of lavender’s earthy notes wafts up on the steam. With a final little dash of oil into the water, Akande places the bottle back in the cupboard. 

“I’ll get us that wine,” Akande says, cupping the nape of Ashe’s neck and kissing her forehead. She nods minutely, and when he pulls away, her eyes are welled with tears again. “Or I can stay right here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Ashe croaks, closing her eyes and shaking her head. He gives her a moment as she takes several deep breaths. Then, a small smile appears on her lips and she opens her eyes. “Wine would be nice.”

“Do you have a preference?”

Ashe huffs a bitter laugh. “There’s a chianti in the cellar. It’s my last bottle.”

“Were you saving it?”

“For tonight. I opened it in the morning to give it time to breathe.” Ashe _tsks_ and rolls her eyes. “It was supposed to be a victory drink but fuck that. We can still salvage this evening. Grab it, we’ll drain it.”

There’s that determination he loves in her. With a smile and a nod, and a final kiss on her forehead, Akande leaves her be. His first stop is the dining table, he collects their dishes, places her leftovers in a container, and tidies up. 

With everything clean, he grabs two wine glasses, then heads through the butler’s pantry and into the cellar, eyeing her impressive collection of wine. The chianti is easy to spot, the bottle sits open atop a barrel on its own. He looks at the vintage and hums in appreciation, at nine years old this bottle must’ve been expensive. But celebration or commiseration, a good bottle of wine is a good bottle of wine.

He makes his way back to the bathroom, eyeing Ashe sitting on the edge of the tub, her long legs crossed and peeking from her black silken robe. She looks at him then the wine in his hand and gestures to the bathtub tray sitting over the bath. He places the glasses down beside a lit candle and pours the glasses, leaving the bottle on the tray too. 

With a kiss on the top of Ashe’s head, he makes his way back into the bedroom and undresses, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on the chair in the corner of the room. 

As he steps into the bathroom, Ashe turns off the water. Looking at him with a playful little smile teasing her lips, she opens her robe, lets it fall to the floor, and climbs into the tub. She sits in the middle and Akande cautiously steps into the bath, making sure to not spill the water out as it licks at the edges. He settles down slowly, letting his elbows rest on the rim as she pulls the tray towards them, settling with her back against his chest with a content hum. 

Ashe picks up both glasses of wine, handing one to Akande. “To making the best of a shitty situation.”

“To spending an evening alone with the love of my life.”

A smile spreads on Ashe’s lips as she clinks her glass against his. It isn’t sardonic or bitter, it’s _genuine_ , the first one this evening. He loves that smile, and he feels the bloom of warmth in his chest. 

Ashe gives the chianti a little swirl and takes a sip, humming again and resting her head on his shoulder. Akande wraps his free arm around her waist and they sit in silence sipping their wine. He wants to give her time, give her space, let her direct this evening. He is perfectly content with sitting in her company without a word being uttered or being a shoulder to cry on. Hell, he would read her a novel if she asked. 

Whatever she wants, he’ll do it.

But as they sit in each other’s company, his eyes are drawn to her black-painted fingernails, contrasting against the deep red wine. He can’t help but notice just how chipped the nail polish is from repairing Bob, or that her perfectly manicured nails are now ragged. 

He can’t help but drop his eyes lower to her wrist. It’s not as red as it was, it’s starting to look a little more like a graze now, but if he had to guess, Ashe was bound today. It makes his blood boil, that someone would do this to her, but as she said when he first questioned it, when he first _hid_ it, _it could have gone much worse_.

Which _is_ true, because she could be who-knows-where right now instead of in his arms. And for that, he holds onto her that little bit tighter.

Still. If he ever crosses paths with the asshole who did this, he won’t be as kind to them as they _apparently_ were with her. 

“Music would’ve been nice,” Ashe murmurs, breaking Akande from his thoughts. She sits up and reaches for the chianti on the table, filling up their glasses. 

“What would you like to listen to?”

Ashe huffs a laugh, looking up at him. “Don’t need it enough to part with you,” she says, weaving her fingers between his. Their hands settle against her abdomen, her head rests against his shoulder once more. 

Kissing the top of her head, Akande can smell the lingering scents of gunpowder and dirt on her hair. She might be here now, but the thought of her _not_ is heartbreaking.

He swallows the anger and sorrow down, focusing on her in front of him, thinking about all the good times they've had. This moment, just them enjoying a bath together, is definitely one he'll remember—for what it _is_ , not the events that led them here.

Closing his eyes, he lets a calm wash over him. He catches a hint of her perfume, it calls to him like a siren's song, and he dips his head to smell it on her neck. He presses a kiss against her skin and Ashe tilts her head to the side, she hums when he kisses again. 

The grip on his hand tightens, and slowly she pulls it down between her legs.

“Are you sure?” Akande murmurs against her skin. "It wasn't my intention."

“Yes,” Ashe whispers. “It’s been one hell of a day, and I want to end it on a high note.” Ashe turns her head, her nose brushes against his cheek. Akande pulls up, looking into her eyes. “Please.”

He nods, ever so slightly, and she closes the distance between them, kissing him softly. She places her glass on the tray and cups his face. As the kiss deepens, she sighs contentedly as his finger traces the seam of her lips. He is slow, gentle, cautious—Ashe is no stranger to rough in the bedroom but there is a time and a place. Focusing on her clit, he massages the hardened bud in little circles.

The first moan passes her lips as her tongue cautiously sweeps into his mouth. He feels his own need, pressing hard against her back as it twitches in response, but he doesn’t care, this isn’t about him, it’s about her. She is his everything, his one constant in the fight to reclaim the world. 

She rolls her hips, her stuttered exhale against his lips tells him that she’s close. Squeezing his hand tighter, she pushes down on his finger and he obliges, applying more pressure and picking up his speed. Her head tips back against his shoulder, he kisses her neck again as she moans softly in his ear.

Her hips buck, she moans his name. Akande can’t help but watch her face, as her eyes squeeze shut, as her mouth hangs open, as she utterly quivers against him. He slows but rides her through it with slow, lazy circles, right until she settles back down to look at him with a fire burning in her eyes.

“Come with me,” she whispers. She pulls his hand away from his and steps out of the bath. Grabbing a neatly folded towel from the shelf, she dries herself, Akande finishes his glass of wine before stepping out himself and taking a second towel she offers. 

She dries herself quickly, placing the towel in the hamper when she is done. Slipping her robe back on, she leers at him with hungry eyes, and it spurns him on. His dry job is rushed at best, but as long as he’s not dripping water he doesn’t care. Tossing his towel into the hamper, she takes his hand again and leads him to her bed.

Ashe lies on her back and he settles over her. She cups his face and kisses him with burning desire. He slips a hand onto the nape of her neck but otherwise doesn’t move, doesn’t roll his hips to grind against her as much as he’s _aching_ to feel her. He wants to act on her cues, go at her speed, and if that just means making out, then he’s more than fine with that.

But when he feels her hand drag down his torso slowly and settle around his cock, he groans, low in his throat. Her teeth graze against his bottom lip and she looks up at him, smirking wickedly. 

Nothing is said, nothing _needs_ to be said, not as she shifts her legs to wrap them around his waist, not as she drags the head of his cock from her clit to her entrance. 

He pushes in slowly, oh so _achingly_ slowly. She gasps, her eyes flutter closed, her fingernails dig into his back, and he could live in this moment forever, for the rest of eternity. Hips flushed with hers, he waits for her to open her eyes before gently thrusting. Right now, there’s no rush, there’s no need to go hard and fast. Right now, the only thing that matters is Ashe. The world could be on fire around them, crumbling apart, and he couldn't care less.

She lifts her head and he meets her in another kiss. While it is as slow as their lovemaking, it is full of passion—her tongue sweeps against him in a rhythm, not unlike waves crashing on a sandbank. 

Her hands trail down his biceps, his forearms, finding his hands and weaving their fingers together. She moans then, a quiet little thing that he swallows down as she meets his thrusts. It’s her first indication that she’s close again, and it strikes a jolt of pleasure through him. But still, this is about her, his world, and he can hold on until she’s had her fill.

Another moan, this time louder. Ashe’s back arches with it and Akande dips his head, dotting kisses along her collarbone, her neck. The grip on his hands tightens, she pushes against him with the heels of her feet. He groans, picking up his pace a little more to meet her speed.

He holds on, as much as he can, as she moans his name over and over, as her rocking turns into little jerks, as she tightens around him. He wants to keep going, to give her another orgasm but it’s all too much and he slips, moaning against her neck as he comes, breathing in the smell of rose and lavender and desert dust. 

Slowing to a grind, he can’t help but smile against her skin as her teeth graze against his earlobe. He pulls up, looking her in the eyes and taking in that gorgeous blissed-out smile on her lips. 

Huffing a laugh, he kisses her forehead, the tip of her nose, and pecks her on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to blooming for the chianti suggestion. She said it reminded her of Hannibal Lecter and I couldn’t *not* go with it. Special mentions go to robo and meggu who were in agreeance that Ashe would turn to gas station wine to forget a bad day, which I do agree with to an extent, *had* she been alone. I feel Ashe has some standards when she has company XD
> 
> Also, I am very very weak for forehead kisses, okay?
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie) and [PillowFort!](https://www.pillowfort.social/ChillieBean) Come say hi!


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